


The Black Keys

by harlequinjane



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-12
Updated: 2015-04-12
Packaged: 2018-03-22 14:22:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3732124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harlequinjane/pseuds/harlequinjane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Phryne is called to investigate the disappearances of two pianists from a club, the new stand-in seems familiar.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Black Keys

Plinking interrupted the very basic chord Jack was trying to teach Phryne Fisher, a woman without the patience to learn something she didn’t deem exciting enough. Piano seemed to be something that fell into this category. Jack sighed as another key jingled loudly, a note totally at odds with what he was trying to show her. Amusement practically poured from her smile when she did it again and he supressed a sigh, “Phryne.” Plink. “Phryne.” Plink. “Phryne.” Plunk. “Miss Fisher!” He grabbed her hand as it hovered over another black key. Her mischievous smirk was infectious and he couldn’t resist the side of his lips quirking upwards quite uncontrollably.

He didn’t know what he’d expected of her behaviour when Phryne had demanded a piano lesson but it probably would have been along these lines. When she had invited him over for dinner Ivan, her most recent paramour, had left as he’d arrived, a handsome man who mentioned playing for the Green Mill. During dinner, after discussing the end of their latest case, Jack had asked why her pianist wasn’t giving her a lesson and she’d just shot him a look that said he should know already. Then she’d mentioned something about a pianist’s fingers he had found himself agreeing to a short lesson. Miss Fisher often inspired something of the impulsive in the detective.

“Well Jack?” Her dulcet voice brought him out of his thoughts and he glanced down to discover that he was still holding her hand. Maybe he was teaching her the wrong way? Phryne Fisher deserved a more hands on approach. He took her right hand, arranged it so that it was perfectly aligned on top of his own and played the chord.

 

* * *

 

For midday rehearsals The Peerless was surprisingly packed. All the jazz singers, waitresses and even the cigarette girls were gathered around the piano. Phryne couldn’t even see the pianist, surrounded as they were, as they dutifully played the giggled out requests. One brave girl asked the pianist to sing but a disappointed group lament stopped Phryne from hearing the refusal. The added wistful sighs confused her as the giggled and requests picked up once more.

“Ah, Miss Fisher.” A gruff voice tore her eyes from the spectacle of the stage. A delighted grin lit up her face as she recognised the owner of The Peerless and an old friend from her travels. She extended both her hands, which he grasped and brought her closer to drop two friendly kisses on her cheeks. Her delighted grin turned into fond indulgence at the older man, a relative of the Portuguese sailor she’d once known, now turned hotelier and club owner.

“Tiago, how _are_ you?” It had been such a long time since they knew each other but she’d always carried a fondness for the older gentleman. When the liaison with her sailor had ended Tiago had been nothing but lovely when the rest of the family had not.

“I am well amada. Apart from what I have called you here for of course. I hear you are a private detective now?” He smiled with an apologetic shrug as he led her back behind the bar and into the main office. He pulled out the chair into which she gracefully sank and sat behind the desk. Phryne shrugged back, forgiving him for being in Melbourne and never having called upon her. Too much time had passed that calling upon her would have been rather awkward, full of stilted conversation and past memories.

“My reputation precedes me I see. What is the problem Tiago?”

“My pianists are going missing. In the last month we have lost two pianists. First was Ivan and then Edward. We have a new one now and I do not want to lose him.” There were deep grooves etched into his forehead and his hair was almost completely white, a far cry from the raven haired, carefree man she had known. He looked tired more than anything. Already Phryne knew that she would take on the case.

“I’ve seen. Well, I’ve heard. Maybe I should meet him.” As the new man in the limelight he was an instant suspect. Tiago chuckled his deep, fruity laugh.

“Yes, you will have to get in the line. We hired yesterday and already he is popular.” He stood; ready to take her back into the rehearsals where no doubt there would be a wait. Maybe she could persuade a cocktail out of her new employer. Before she could inquire as to why, overly charming is always suspicious, Tiago continued as he aided her standing and settled her hand in the crook of his arm, “Ivan and Edward thought they were ladies men but you Australians do not understand the term as we Portuguese do.” Phryne couldn’t help but let out an amused huff. Yes, she could definitely attest to that, “the new one has not once tried to seduce any of my girls. He is respectful and handsome.”

“A rare man indeed.” Although Phryne rarely walked out with anyone who was otherwise she found they were few and far between in the jazz underbelly of Melbourne. The crowd of girls was still there, being eyed by the rest of the jazz band. The trumpeter cast an exasperated look in their direction, at which Tiago simply chuckled. He understood that the frustration extended more from the lack of attention than the lack of rehearsal. Phryne sat at the bar, Tiago tapped twice and a barman appeared, already preparing a drink. She could definitely get used to this. Tiago then went to fetch this mysterious musician.

A dry martini appeared in front of her. She brought out the olive and dragged it off with her teeth. The bartender just smirked and walked away to prepare for the evening ahead. There was a hand at her elbow and Tiago gently turned her. Her eyebrows shot up but a warning glance quickly got her reaction under wraps. Instead she offered her hand to the musician and said,

“You’re so right Tiago, _very_ handsome. Wherever did you find him?”

“I auditioned yesterday Miss-?”

“This is Miss Fisher, Miss Fisher this is Archibald Jones.”

 

The next day, in the second rehearsal Phryne was allowed to attend, she was a woman with a mission, having been filled in on Jack Robinson’s. There had been a need for an undercover operation when it turned out that other jazz musicians were disappearing from other clubs. As the only detective inspector with a more advanced musical skill he was the first one to take the Peerless opening. Whilst she wasn’t totally happy with Jack being used as bait she knew that to be slightly hypocritical and so kept her mouth shut.

“Wouldn’t mind walking him up the middle aisle.” One of the cigarette girls said from the behind the bar as she started laying out the cigarettes on the tray. The others had been banned although this lady had been clever enough to find a decent excuse to stay. Most of the other girls had also been banned apart from the clever few. Some of those clever few were hovering by the piano as Jack stared at his keys, brows furrowed. Either he was deep in concentration or determinedly not responding to a singer whispering something in his ear. Something about this exchange unsettled Phryne and she couldn’t quite figure out what it was. The prickle of something she hadn’t experienced before.

“It’ll be a lucky woman who marries that man.” She finally responded to the cigarette girl. Suddenly he looked up, that intense gaze of his fixing itself upon her. She blinked, unaware that she had been looking at him for so long, gave a smile and swung around in her seat, “so what about Ivan and Edward?”

She spent the rest of the rehearsal gathering information about her and Jack’s case from the rest of the band and the bartenders. Jack was on the same mission, charming the women into giving out any titbit they could, although Phryne wasn’t so sure he was aware of exactly how charming he was being. In fact, he seemed rather comfortable in his role of Archibald Jones, suave jazz musician with tortured past. As he was playing someone had enquired about a wife and his response of her no longer being around had sent waves of sympathy around everyone. Only ten minutes later did the poor man realise what it had sounded like.

Phryne came out of the back office Tiago was letting her use to interview suspects, the trumpeter becoming the front runner, she heard a familiar chord. She turned her pretty head towards the stage. The cigarette girl from before, Clara, had settled herself into Jack’s side. His eyes were wide as her legs, almost completely bare due to the nature of the uniform, flung themselves over his as if this were the most natural thing to do. He held one arm up in an effort not to touch her whilst the other played the chord repeatedly. That handsome profile turned towards her, locked eyes with her and widened them in a silent plea. Something ugly flared up inside Phryne Fisher, the prickle of something unfamiliar. The chord, the chord Jack had taught her, was played faster the more Clara edged onto his lap. When Clara placed a hand over Jack’s Phryne found herself marching towards the stage.

“Mr Jones.” Her voice was sharp, much sharper than she had intended it to be. Clara glared down at her with enough venom to make a lesser woman shiver. Phryne was not a lesser woman, “I have yet to interview you. Please come with me.”

“Of course Miss Fisher.” Jack was gentle as he slipped his arms around Clara’s waist and under her legs, picked her up just a little and shifted her on to the chair. Then, seeing a shiver and mistaking it for a cold, he shrugged off his jacket and placed it over hers. Clara smiled up at him with liquid eyes and pulled the jacket tightly around her. Phryne stalked back to the office, trailed by the confused Jack Robinson.

She twirled around as soon as he closed Tiago’s office door, “fraternising with the suspects Jack, how very daring of you.” She didn’t know what was wrong with her. She’d fraternised with a few suspects herself, even if she hadn’t known about it at the time. Why it was different when Jack did it was something she didn’t want to look too closely at.

“Clara? Clara’s not a suspect. She’s a seventeen year old girl. A bit… forward maybe.” He added, wincing at the memory of the young girl on his lap. At least the chord had brought Phryne over just in time, “the real suspect-”

 

The real suspect had been a seventeen year old girl with a pharmaceutical background and a crush. That night, after Archibald Jones’ stunning debut performance, whilst Jack was helping clear away Phryne sat in the office with Tiago. Just as she was trying to placate the older Portuguese man a familiar chord struck up rather frantically. It got slower, slower, slower. A heavy thunk of keys. Phryne was on her pretty heels in a second and running for the stage. Slumped over the piano was Jack Robinson and over him with a bottle and a rag was Clara. She glanced up. She looked at the rags. She bolted. Right into Phryne who had rushed to the door and to Collins who had arrived to collect the inspector.

“Hugh, arrest her!” Jack shouted from his sitting position on the floor. He scrambled up, looking remarkably put together for someone who had just been drugged. Hugh arrested the young girl on the spot even though his face registered a look of boyish confusion.

 

* * *

 

“How fresh you look Jack.” Phryne announced when he walked into her parlour the night later. Back to his usual inspector attire he looked as handsome as he had as the rakish Archibald Jones. His ‘Archie’ hair had been adorably ruffled and perfectly suited to a passionate musician. Phryne suddenly desired nothing more than to run her hands through his hair and ruffle it once more as he stepped into the firelight. At least then the other girls wouldn’t. She stomped down that thought almost immediately.

“I can recognise when I’m being drugged Miss Fisher.” His tone teased but his mind still rebelled against the idea of Clara, even though she had confessed everything and the bodies had been found exactly where she had said they were. He had been so convinced Clara had been no trouble, just an overzealous teenager, full of the ideals of the romantic pictures.

“Well I must say, between Archie and pretending to be drugged your future on the stage is looking bright.” She poured him a whiskey that Mr Butler had so kindly prepared before he’d turned in for the night. He took it and his usual place leaning against the mantle. They clinked tumblers.

“I think I will leave the stage to you in future.”

“No more piano playing?” She pouted. It was one of Jack’s beautiful, hidden talents, one of many she assumed, alongside his way with German. A large part of her had thrilled to be the only one to hear it and some of the emotion she now recognised as jealousy occurred because people other than her were hearing him play. It was an ugly emotion and even though she tried to push it away there it was.

“Well not on stage. I thought we could continue our lesson.” Jack moved over to the grand in the corner of the room, gently guiding Phryne over with him. They sat down and he pressed them together as tightly as was allowed. He arranged her right hand on top of his and began to play.

**Author's Note:**

> The name of the club is actually lifted from a jazz club from 1920s Chicago.  
> Cigarette girls were common in America and the UK but I can't find any evidence for Australia so please forgive me!
> 
> One day I will write a fic where they make out for at least half of it I promise. I also feel this might be a bit rushed, please let me know if you feel the same!


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